


(but nobody came.)

by Alice_not_in_Wonderland



Series: (despite everything, it’s still you.) [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abandonment, Child Abuse, Child Frisk (Undertale), Frisk (Undertale) Backstory, Gen, Gender-Neutral Frisk (Undertale), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, its not explicit at all but it’s there, they’re pretty young here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26204956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alice_not_in_Wonderland/pseuds/Alice_not_in_Wonderland
Summary: It goes like this: Frisk is eight years old when they climb Mt. Ebott.
Series: (despite everything, it’s still you.) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903090
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	(but nobody came.)

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably going to be the beginning of a few undertale one shots, mostly centering around my headcanons for the game, that I’ll put in a series. Enjoy!
> 
> Content warnings: implied child neglect, implied physical child abuse, implied emotional child abuse, verbal abuse, slight language, implied self-harm (bruising), implied suicide
> 
> Everything’s just implied, I kept everything nonexplicit, but there are some decently heavy themes. Frisk didn’t have the happiest life before Undertale.

It goes like this:

Frisk is eight years old.

They have no toys because Mum said that they're too old for them and Father ripped their stuffie to shreds two months ago and said he'd do the same thing to them if he saw them again, and Frisk didn't care about their other toys anyways. Mum took them away a little bit after. Their room isn't colorful anymore. Mum looked at it and said it looks proper and nice and clean and Frisk nodded when she called them a big girl even though they're not very big, or a girl. The walls are cream and the bed is white and it's a very pretty room, Mum said, but Frisk thinks it's just boring.

Father's not home yet, and Frisk doesn't think they mind very much. It's a very mean thing to think, but Father's been angry lately, and angry rarely means anything good for Frisk. They pull out one of their notebooks they have for school and flip to the back, grabbing a pencil from the top of their desk. They'd rather draw on blank paper, but Mum caught them getting printer paper last time and yelled at them for wasting the paper on silly things like drawing and took all the crayons from their room because they're too old for them, too, and now they only have a pencil and their math notebook. Mum's not caught them on this notebook, yet.

Drawing is fun. It's more fun than the worksheets they haven't done yet because they don't understand them, and they bite their nails at the thought of their homework. Mum said she'd check them before dinner today, and Frisk thinks Mrs. Evans called her about how they weren't doing any of the grammar worksheets, but they don't understand them and they can't go to Mum cause she's busy and they can't go to Father because he's even busier, so they usually crumple the pages into a ball and shove them down down down their backpack and tell Mrs. Evans that they lost it. The last time Mum caught them not doing their homework she sent them to their room without dinner, and then told Father, and then-

Frisk keeps drawing. Their nails are stubby and gross from how much they bite them, and their right hand is tight enough on the pencil to leave red marks on their fingers, but if they stop all they'll think about are the crumpled pages hidden all the way at the bottom of their backpack so they don't.

\---

They like to play games with themselves, sometimes.

At school they hop around the hallways to make sure their feet never step on the cracks between the tiles. On the sidewalk, they run one foot behind another on the curb as fast as they can. At home, they take stairs by twos going up and by threes going down.

They don’t have any notebooks anymore, so they squeeze every drawing they can in the sides of their worksheets, and play their games when there's no space left.

One time, they're skipping down the stairs when they miss a step, and go tumbling down. It hurts, bad, the edges of the stairs and the hard wall they bump into and it takes a moment for them to catch their breath, struggling not to cry once they've reached the floor. Everything hurts and their ears still ring with the sound. A shout for help escapes their mouth before they can stop it.

They struggle to their feet, bracing themselves for a voice - anything. Father isn't home yet, but they know that Mum is in her room.

(But nobody came.)

\---

They're lucky, they think, that they didn't break a bone. They heard that Tommy in the 3rd grade broke a bone two months ago and he had to go to the hospital and his parents raised a huge fuss and he had to wear a huge white cast around his arm for literally forever. Besides not wanting to have a cast for literally forever, they're pretty sure that going to the hospital counts as bothering, and the one thing Mum and Father agree on is that Frisk must never bother them. Bad children bother.

There does end up being a pretty big scratch all the way down their back that they can't reach properly and bruises all over that they cover with their favorite sweater, big and blue and with pink stripes. They cover their cuts with bandaids they find in the cabinet in the kitchen. The box is almost empty.

\---

They have a new game, now.

They trip and fall on the sidewalk. They crash into doors, and walls, and tables. There are bruises all over them, and they pick out all the different colors in the middle, the purples and blues and greens and yellows that paint their skin. It's kind of pretty, they think as they press in the middle of one until it begins to hurt.

They're sitting on the top stair, staring down the floor. Mum's in her office again. They remember the fall down, and scratch without thinking at the still healing scratch on their back. Their feet swing, one-two, and they keep staring at the ground below them.

It feels very far away.

They take a moment, then another. There are eighteen stairs. They count them forwards, then backwards, and wonder.

They jump.

\---

Father said he was taking them on a trip.

They bite their nails. They never get taken on trips. Only good children deserve trips, and Frisk has never been a good child. They know that, just like they know that children must be seen and not heard, just like they know that only bad children bother, just like they know that no matter how many times they fall, nobody will come. Father watches them angrily and puts out a cigarette under his shoe.

"Hurry it up, stupid," he says, sounding angry, and they try to go a little faster. They ran out of bandaids a while ago, so they've been using the same one over and over again. It's dirty and about to fall off, but Mum said that they were being too wasteful so they don't have any others.

"You really don't fucking listen, do you?" his hand reaches out and grabs their arm, right over where there's a dark bruise under their sweater. They stumble forward as he drags them forward, feet scrambling to keep up. They don't remember if that one is from themselves or from him. "We're almost there."

They don't seem to be particularly close to anything, they want to say, but they keep their mouth shut. They're not a smart child, anyways. It's not like they've been very many places. They half-walk, half get pulled over to a bench sitting over a grey sidewalk. Father gives them a look when they look back at him, confused.

"Go on, sit," he rolls his eyes. "I don't have all day."

They sit. Weren't they supposed to go on a trip?

"I have to do something," he chuckles, low and soft, under his breath. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

Their heart thuds faster, and they feel a sick, sweaty feeling all over their skin. They move, about to get up, but a sharp look from Father has them settling back into the chair. It feels too hard and uncomfortable, digging into their skin, and their hands are holding the edge so tight their knuckles are white, but when Father's giving them That Look they know better than to disobey him. They shake in their seat.

Father watches them for a moment, like he's making sure they aren't going to move, before walking away. He pulls a small box from his pocket and stops to light a cigarette before moving on, footsteps sounding unusually loud in the empty street. Frisk's legs swing back and forth as they sit on the bench, and they watch him leave, unable to move or look away.

It isn't until he's out of sight that the tears come, thick and hot, and they curl into themselves in a corner of the bench. The sky's growing darker as the sun goes down, but they don't really notice as they press their face into their knees and call, as loud as they can, for him to come back.

(But nobody came.)

\---

It goes like this:

There is a mountain in the distance that you can see from everywhere in Ebott. It is covered in thick trees and thorns that grow so tall and so thick that it looks like nighttime underneath, even on the brightest summer days. Even on its very edges, it is said that the shadows are darker, colder than usual. That the vines seem to cling to your shoes as you climb. That branches and stones seem to pop out of nowhere, invisible until you stumble over them.

But the deeper you go, the colder the forest becomes. It is said that the shadows grow larger, longer, stranger. They'll stretch out towards the sun instead of away from it, they'll move just a bit slower than you do. You'll see them move in the corner of your eye only to go still when you look straight at them. And as you go deeper, further, the shadows will grow into something - more. Larger. More solid. And very much not human.

People do not agree on what they are. Some believe them ghosts - restless souls that have not found peace, and desire to drag down others with them. Some say they are demons, and that the mountain is a gateway to hell itself. And some point to a painting of a village--once Ebott, but with small wood-and-stone cottages dotting the grass long before the maze of metal and glass it now is--and whisper of the tall, horned figure in the center stumbling under the weight of arrows and spears with a broken body of a child clutched in its claws, standing in the middle of a field of golden flowers, and speak of monsters.

Whatever it is that lies in Mt. Ebott, all agree on one thing: those who climb the mountain always, always disappear.

\---

Frisk tightens the grip on their stick as they stumble into the cave.

It's begun to rain, and even the thickness of the leaves that cover them cannot hold back the water for long. They haven't seen anyone since Father left them on the bench. They waited through the night and into the morning for him, or Mum, or anyone to come back.

(But nobody came.)

They’ve heard stories about Ebott before. Some kids in the fourth grade said that they didn't believe in any of the stories, and one even said he climbed it, but nobody believed him 'cause everyone knew that Nick wasn't even brave enough to go across the monkey bars, something even most of the first graders could do. They wonder what their classmates would think that little, stupid, clumsy, awkward Frisk could climb the mountain when none of them dared to.

Not that it's been particularly hard, considering the stories. Their clumsy legs that always manage to catch on corners of walls and cracks in the sidewalk have somehow been able to step over underbrush and layers of leaves with no trouble, and when they're about to fall something to grab always manages to appear under their hand. If they're being honest, it seems more like the mountain is helping them climb. They haven’t been scratched by thorns, though they've seen plenty of them next to them, and though it's dark just enough light gets through the trees so they can find their way ok. They think it might be a trick of the light, but the grass seems to part under their feet.

They wonder if the mountain knows why they're here.

The cave leads down, deeper, darker. It should make them afraid, but it doesn't. They follow it down, and the pale brown rock walls lead down to an opening. They step into the room, curious.

All that greets them is a large, bottomless pit.

They stare at it. It feels strangely familiar. They can almost imagine a stairwell, leading down into the darkness, but it must be much more than eighteen steps this time. Maybe one hundred. Maybe one million, though they count up that high. Amanda from math class says she can, though.

They stare at it, strangely calm, and decide to try one last time. Shouting louder than they ever have before, they call out for help. The sound echoes around them off the cave's walls, continuing to ring long after they clamp their mouth shut again.

(But nobody came.)

They take a deep breath.

And jump.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m back!! I’m honestly working on a pretty big wip rn, but I won’t post it until it’s finished. While I’m working on that tho, I’m probably gonna try posting some of these one shots as I write them as breaks? See you soon, hopefully!! And thank you for reading!!


End file.
